


Tending to the Wounded

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: RED - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine tending to William Cooper after his fight with Frank Moses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tending to the Wounded

[ Imagine tending to William Cooper after his fight with Frank Moses. ](http://karlurbanimagines.tumblr.com/post/108692124906/imagine-tending-to-william-cooper-after-his-fight)

 

The room is a mess. Scratch that, the room is completely destroyed. There isn’t one piece of furniture left standing, including the floor to ceiling glass walls. You slide on shards of glass and paper as you jog into the room.

“Who is she?” The man that looks like he went ten rounds with Mike Tyson glares at you from the far corner.

You try stepping over the piles of books and scattered folders as best you can in your heels and pencil skirt. “I’m from medical. I take it you’re the patient?” Holding out your hand, you introduce yourself.

He drops his head in a curt nod before turning his attention back to his superior. “I don’t need to be seen. I need to be debriefed, ASAP. Moses is out there, and God knows what he’s got planned.”

The large gash over his right eye is oozing blood into an eye that is almost swollen shut. Thick eyebrows knit together in pain as he absentmindedly reaches over to his shoulder. A shoulder that is hanging at an odd angle.

“Sir, if you don’t mind –“

He flinches away as you reach out to him. “I sure as hell do mind!”

You clench your jaw. He wants to be stubborn, fine. Straightening your fitted jacket, you square your shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me then. I have actual work that needs to be done.” Without waiting for a response from not just his superior, but yours as well, you spin on the ball of your foot and make your way out of the disaster zone that is William Cooper’s office.

* * *

“I sure as hell do mind!” You slam the door closed behind you. “What a jerk.”

There’s a knock just as you step away.

Frustration is still burning in your chest as you yank the door open. “What?!”

Your superior stands tall, arms clasped behind her back. She clears her throat as a brow arches high on her forehead.

“I – I’m sorry, ma’am. What can I do for you?” You move to the side, silently inviting her in.

She gives a shake of her head before stepping to the side. “I have brought your patient.”

Through the multiple cuts and dried blood, William scowls at you. “I told you –“

“And I told you, Agent Cooper, that if you want to remain on this case, you will be treated for your injuries. I do not want to see you in my office until she is finished.” She pulls the door closed, leaving you and the brooding agent alone.

You direct him to the other side of your office that houses an exam table, along with every medical tool and medicine you could ever need.

William sits down stiffly, still gripping his shoulder.

You fire up the laptop on the table, getting a file started for the agent you don’t doubt has never been seen in this capacity. “Name.”

He sighs heavily, his voice deep and cracked when he speaks. “I don’t have time for this.”

With a brow arched and your fingers poised over the keyboard, you glare at the agent. “Name.”

“Cooper, William.”

“Date of birth.”

“September 12, 1978.”

“Any known allergies?”

“I can’t believe… no.” Pain flashes across face as he squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Can we please just get on with it? I have a –“

“I can make this last as long as I like, sir. The more uncooperative you are, the longer I keep you, and the farther ahead of you Frank Moses gets.”

Dark eyes are on you in a flash. “What do you know about it?”

“Agent’s talk, sir. This is just like any corporation, there’s office gossip. Plus, numerous agents saw him throw you through the wall.” Your hand is on his shoulder in a flash. You squeeze the socket where his shoulder should be, giving him a sarcastically sympathetic frown.

He had opened his mouth to speak, but when you tighten your grip, what comes out doesn’t remotely sound like words.

Satisfied you have shown him how easy it is for you to gain the upper hand, you release your grip, and turn to pull on a pair of purple latex gloves.

Drops of spit fall from his bottom lip when he blows out a breath. “You crazy bitch.”

“It’s been said. Now, you get to choose what happens first. Do we put your shoulder back, or do I deal with the lacerations?” Snapping the latex against your wrist, you turn to meet the fiery gaze of the injured man.

His chest heaves as he reigns in the anger blazing a path in his chest. When he talks, it’s through gritted teeth. “Get it over with.”

* * *

William washes down several pills for the pain of his newly relocated shoulder as you set up a tray for the next task, examining the multitude of lacerations that decorate his face.

Armed with a penlight, you step between his legs and instruct him to open his eyes. It proves difficult as his right is quite swollen. He hisses when you pry it open with your thumb.

“You’ve got quite a few broken blood vessels, sir.” When his pupils constrict to the size of a pin prick and he flinches, you pocket the light. “Tell me, are you seeing stars or hearing a ringing?”

There’s a twitch in his good eye. “No.”

“Sir, we’ve been over this already.”

With a heavy sigh, he nodes once. 

 

“I think you have a concussion, sir. I can’t in good conscience –“

“Just patch me up.” His words are a snarled, almost slurred mess.

Purple hands are held up in surrender before you reach for the cotton pads, and soak one in peroxide. No warning is given as you swipe it across the biggest gash of them all. Dried blood is wiped away seconds before fresh blood oozes out. A pain-laced cry fills the space between you.

“Yeah, that’s going to need stitches.”

“God damn it.”

“Just a couple, nothing to worry about, sir. I’ll numb the area first, you won’t feel a thing.”

As you set about injecting a lidocaine / bupivacaine mix around the cut, the man on your exam table clears his throat.

“What?”

“You don’t have to keep calling me sir.”

You chew on your bottom lip as you concentrate. “Yes, I do.”

“No, really, you don’t.”

After dropping the syringe in the red-lidded disposal container, you pull off your gloves and move to remove your jacket. It is too tight across your shoulders for the task at hand. “You outrank me, sir.”

You feel the pressure of his eyes as you slip on a new pair of gloves before threading the needle, taking longer than needed in order to give the numbing agent plenty of time to kick in. When you face him, all anger has faded. 

 

“Stop calling me sir, please.”

You hate breaking protocol, especially since you are still on new hire probation, but there is something about the way he is looking at you and in the way he says your name that makes your stomach tighten. “What should I call you?”

“My first name will suffice.” The left corner of his mouth pulls up, his attempt at a smile.

“William it is, just don’t tell my boss.” Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth again as you slide the needle in.

It doesn’t take long to stitch the gash closed, four passes before you clip the thread. A small butterfly bandage is placed on to help keep the stitches in place. The rest of the cuts are superficial, so you just run a peroxide soaked pad over them, and do your best to ignore the fact that you really love the way he smells. Even sweat soaked and bloody, you can still smell the aftershave he applied earlier in the day.

Stepping back, you toss all the pads into the biohazard container, followed by placing the utensils used in the sink to disinfect before finally peeling off your gloves. You approach the laptop as William stumbles off the table. 

 

“Humor me for one more minute.”

 

He grumbles something under his breath as you print off a copy of a form that needs his signature. 

 

Securing it on a clipboard, you grab a pen and hand it to him. “Please sign at the bottom.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“As a heart attack, sir.” 

 

He scribbles something that resembles his name. “Are we done here?”

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“I thought we talked about that.”

 

You feel your face grow warm. “Sorry, s - I mean, William.”

 

Crossing the room in three strides, he opens the door before exiting, leaving it open behind him. 

 

A hand drives through your hair as you’re suddenly left alone. With a scoff, you move to close the door he obviously can’t be bothered with. You’re about to close it when he pops his head back in. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

You let out a surprised gasp. “I - I’m sorry, sir?”

 

His brow creases in irritation. “What will it take to get you to continually call me by my first name?”

 

“Dinner.” The word falls out before you can even think about stopping it. 

 

He chuckles low in his throat. “Only if you say it.”

 

You shuffle, suddenly nervous. “William.”

 

He winks with his good eye. “I’ll call you.”

 

Just like before, without a word, he struts away from you. Poking your head out the door, you watch him disappear around the corner. You blow out a breath you didn’t know you were holding before returning to the laptop. The file you started for William Cooper needs completion.

 


End file.
